Page 93 of Beneath the Hood

My mind races, the illogical part of my brain jumping to a thousand different conclusions, my lungs squeezing tighter with every breath, and I stumble back a step as my fists clench at my sides.

Deep breath in. One. Two. Three.

It doesn’t help, the spiral has already started, sprung from the anxiety that’s been growing inside of me for days at the unknown of this situation. My mind races, hoping like hell that whatever is happening is innocent, but not wanting to stick around to find out.

My heart feels like it’s being squeezed until the vessels burst as I trip my way to the front of the doors and rush out to Lennox’s car. Somehow I make it, my stomach tossing like a ship in a storm and slide into his front seat, my body shaking and my face hot.

“What’s wrong?” Lennox is suddenly on high alert, sitting up straight, his arms coming out to touch me but then pulling back.

I can’t focus enough to talk, the sharp pain in my chest becoming more acute with every passing second, my eyes watering from the loss of air. Leaning forward, I place my head on my knees, trying to stop the dizziness.

“Blakely, Jesus Christ, do I need to take you to a hospital?”

Lennox’s words strike an even stronger chord, one that vibrates down my insides like nails on a chalkboard, and I muster all of my remaining sanity and strength to rasp out, “Just drive.”

Deep breath in. One. Two. Three. Deep breath out.

My stomach heaves with every bump in the road, visions of honey-blonde hair and the perfect smile on Jackson’s face torturing my thoughts, making them spin webs of situations that, if I were in my right mind, I would know better than to believe.

But I can’t focus on any of that.

Right now, all I can focus on is my breathing.

* * *

Sweat dripsdown my forehead as I ramp up the intensity of the treadmill, pushing the incline to seven and letting the lactic acid pour into my muscles. If I focus on the burn, then I won’t focus on the last three hours.

How I’m not where I want to be.

How I’m all alone instead of lying in Jackson’s arms.

My phone has been ringing off the hook, Jackson’s name flowing across the screen every few seconds, and call me petty, call me insecure, but I just can’t find it in me to talk to him right now. Not until I get the giant node that’s tangled in my chest to release its death grip on my lungs.

Once I can breathe again, then I’ll call him back.

I overreacted. I knew it even when I was in the midst of my panic, but there’s nothing I can do about it now other than move forward and try to keep a level head. Make sure I’m in the calmest state possible to talk to him.

And I’m not there yet.

As the miles tick up on the treadmill and the burn of muscles mutates into fatigue, the knot loosens, disappointment settling heavy in its place. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him, and at the first sign of something not going my way, I lose it.

Pathetic, Blakely.

My insides cramp. I never realized that loving someone meant giving up such a huge amount of control. And where Jackson is usually the balm to my wounds, has been the anchor keeping me grounded, tonight he was the catalyst to my destruction. The tornado I let ravage through my system and rip up everything in its path.

It caught me so off guard, there was no time to find shelter.

My legs are numb and lethargy trips them up, so I reluctantly turn off the treadmill, guzzling water before walking back up the stairs, my legs like jelly as I hold on to the wooden railing.

Once I’m back in my bedroom, I strip out of my clothes, preparing to go into my en suite to start my nightly routine.

The one that I don’t feel the need to have whenever I stay at Jackson’s.

Anxiety punches my gut as I step into the shower.

And as water beats down on my back, hiding the tears that stream down my face, I realize that for the first time since he came into my life, once again, I feel alone.

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